


Into the dark and wonderful unknown

by anisstaranise



Series: Shadows Align [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian rethinks his reservations when it comes to his feelings for Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the dark and wonderful unknown

**Author's Note:**

> For **Yiota** who prompted _4: "I'm flirting with you"_ from [this](http://anisstaranise.tumblr.com/post/140972524830/send-me-two-or-more-characters-and-a-number-and) list
> 
> Title taken from **Ingrid Michaelson** 's _Wonderful Unknown_

There is a calm thrumming in the air, the remnants of the pitter-pattering rain mellowing the city of Dalton. Traffic is slower, lazier, as though everyone in the city is taking pleasure in the autumn showers after a stretch of summer heat.

He zips through the front door of his apartment in jeans and shirt, his arms accommodating two bulging bags of Chinese takeout that’s fitting for a party of ten. He glances at the clock; just a little after midnight. Usually he would still be out patrolling the city streets at this hour, keeping a vigilant eye out for any crimes committed by metahumans or otherwise. But tonight had been quiet; perhaps even the criminals decided to enjoy the rain in the comforts of their home (or lair) and take the night off.

He isn’t one to complain; a quiet night in may be just what he needs. Even superheroes need their ‘me’ time.

He sighs contently as he settles on the couch, boxes of fried _yi mien_ , spring rolls and _kung pao_ chicken laid out on the coffee table, waiting to be devoured. His eyes scan the shows on his DVR list and skips past the police procedurals and the period dramas. Nights off are rare as it is so he wants something light, something comedic, something that will take his mind off being a forensic scientist or _The Flash_ \- just for a few hours.

 After almost five minutes of scrolling through his list, he ends up picking what he would always pick when he needs a laugh; _Mind Your Language_.

As the son of an English teacher, the 1970s show about a British man teaching English as a Second Language in a London-based education center for adults brings fond memories of his late mother. He reminisces how they would spend rainy nights such as tonight watching it together, how she would share anecdotes of her students that were similar to the fictitious pupils’.

Three episodes in, he’s startled by a frantic knock at the door. He checks his watch before settling the last box of spring rolls on the table; almost two in the morning.

The muscles in his body tighten as he cautiously approaches the door. He’s not expecting company and both Hunter and Santana have a key. Who can it be at this hour then?

A quick peek through the peephole and his entire body relaxes as his sights are met with a head of dark curls- wet and unruly from the rain- and the biggest, kindest brown eyes; Blaine.

The gladness of having Blaine at his doorstep swiftly shifts to confusion as the journalist stumbles in panting the moment he opens the door.

“Blaine- what are you-” he tries to ask but the question dies on his lips when he sees the other man clutching his left arm, the sleeve of his jacket in tatters, stained dark with- ink? He imagines it wouldn’t be the first time for a journalist like Blaine to stay late at the office, working on a story and perhaps he had encountered a problem with the printer’s toner.

He takes a closer look. No, not ink- it’s blood.

“Blaine!” he exclaims as he surges forward to grab his friend’s arm. He’s gentle enough that Blaine doesn’t wince.

“Just a scratch,” Blaine says jokingly.

“What the hell happened?” his asks, his voice an octave higher than usual, laden with worry. Did a metahuman do this, he wonders. He escorts his friend to the couch instructing him to remove the jacket before he’s urgently collecting the first-aid kit from the kitchen.

“I fell,” Blaine deadpans.

He can’t help but scoff as he takes his place next to his friend. “No shit.”

He tucks away his concerns for just a moment as he lets his paramedic skills take over, concentrating on the task at hand. His brows furrow as he inspects Blaine’s wounds; the gash is long, but not too deep that it requires sutures.

Slowly, he lines some sterile gauze along the gash and applies pressure on it to stop the bleeding. He works in silence despite the hundreds of questions he’d like to ask Blaine. He feels the other man’s eyes on him, regarding him carefully as he cleans the wound, dabbing it with antiseptic-soaked cotton balls, exchanging it after every other stroke until he’s satisfied that the wound is safe from an infection.

“Ask your questions, Sebastian.” It’s Blaine who finally breaks the silence. “I can hear you making a list of them in your head.”

A smile creeps at the corners of his mouth; Blaine reads him so well. It should be disconcerting- but somehow it isn’t with Blaine.

“What happened?” he asks again as he carefully lays strips of butterfly tape over the wound to help it heal better- and without scarring too badly.

“I miscalculated a jump and my arm snagged on some barbed wires,” his friend says nonchalantly.

“I presume the barbed wires were guarding a _private_ property?” he teases, slightly relieved that the injury isn't the doing of a metahuman.

Blaine smiles shyly at his stressing of the word _private_. This isn’t the first time his friend had ventured to gather information in a less than legal manner. He admires Blaine’s determination and gumption but he worries- a lot.

Information is a powerful thing; it’s the most valuable currency in this day and age. The one who holds the most information holds the leverage- and the one with the leverage holds the power. When it comes to power, many parties are willing to do whatever it takes to keep it.

And Blaine prying into unwanted areas and getting his hands on information that some parties had worked hard to keep locked away- it can get dangerous. He supposes his friend’s bleeding arm is a testament to that.

“Was anyone chasing you?” he tries to ask calmly, not letting too much of his concern bleed through. He cares for Blaine, even harbours a crush on the journalist but his choice to be _The Flash_ has him keeping the other man at arm’s length and in the dark.

Blaine watches him tidy up the used gauze and discarded surgical gloves before he answers. “No. I was trying to avoid one of the security guards on my way out when I cut myself.”

“Where were you?” he calls out over his shoulder when he’s in the kitchen to wash his hands. Blaine’s laugh travels through the short distance between them, soft and light.

“The less you know the better.”

He shakes his head fondly at his friend’s protectiveness. The irony that Blaine’s trying to protect him by withholding certain information when he does the exact same thing, albeit in secret, amuses him to no end.

“Right- because what you were doing was so _legal_ ,” he teases. “So legal in fact that you couldn’t go to the hospital to have them fix you up instead.”

Blaine laughs again. It’s a beautiful sound that he wishes he could bottle and listen to over and over as he pleases.

“Are you kidding? My insurance doesn’t cover this shit,” Blaine says eliciting a chuckle from him. “And your first aid kit is so well equipped you could open a free clinic.”

He flushes a little at the mention of his kit; the only reason it resembles a mini hospital- complete with a wide range of analgesic drugs and a home defibrillator- is because Hunter makes sure they are prepared to handle the injuries he obtains when he stumbles home after a night of fighting metahumans.

But Blaine doesn’t know that- can’t know that- although It doesn’t stop him from wishing (or fantasizing) that one day things could change and he’d have a chance to share it with the other man, perhaps even profess his feelings.

“Besides-” Blaine says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “-maybe I just wanted to see you.”

A burst of butterflies flutter in his stomach as he instinctively raises a hand to rub the back of his neck; it’s a reflex for when he’s at a loss for words. There’s hope rising in his chest, a hope that maybe-just maybe- Blaine feels the same way, too.

His conversation with Santana a few weeks ago comes to mind. Perhaps his best friend is right- to believe in the best case scenario may not be such a bad thing. Perhaps he should come clean with his feelings, with being _The Flash_ and let Blaine decide if being together is worth the risks.

“If I didn’t know any better, Anderson, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

Blaine rises from the couch and saunters towards him, whipping the butterflies inside him into a fluttery-frenzy. “Oh but I _am_ flirting with you.”

He’s pleasantly surprised to be witnessing this playful, flirty side of Blaine; his friend is usually more reserved than this, bashful even. He suspects that Blaine his riding on an adrenalin high from his one-man covert mission earlier- not much different from the high he gets when he’s zooming around the city as _The Flash_. It’s a high that leaves you feeling bold, invincible.

He swallows hard, appreciative of Blaine’s bold stance and he finds himself catching the high- like a contagion of boldness.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Dinner Friday night?”

The proposal comes swiftly. Time to believe in the best case scenario, he thinks.

The rain’s stopped now, blanketing the city in a serene silence and he swears the sound of his hammering heart is echoing through the apartment loudly. Blaine smiles that beautiful smile of his and moves to gather his frayed jacket off the couch.

“I thought you’d never ask,” is all Blaine says before he meanders out the front door.

\---END


End file.
